HeyJaredDeclined: Donald’s Substack
Every writer has experienced rejection, but I won't stop writing just because my work has been declined.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 7
- Latest publication
- Sep 26, 2026
- Audience
- Checking…
- Earliest in this view
- Jul 7, 2026
Latest issues
Uncle Julio and Ross (opens the original)
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I thought I’d post this before I started the mowing today.Thanks for taking a little break with me this morning!<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="890" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!eI4Y!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progr
Bell Choir (opens the original)
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Bell choirs are wonderful. The bells, perfectly tuned to different pitches, played in perfect sequence to create intimate melodies are mesmerizing. But even more wonderful than the instruments are the players themselves.Thanks for pausing to a moment today to share the music.<source ty
Where Is Thy Stinger? (opens the original)
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I’ve written about my encounters with cicada killer wasps before. Encountering them was one of the more jolting elements of culture shock when my family moved from Brooklyn to North Texas during my childhood. I was moved to return to the subject the other day because I happened on one in a way I never had before: It was dead. Something about the paradox of this agent of death for other creatures succumbing to death itself grabbed me and found its way into poetry. I hope the subject is not too of
Unclaimed (opens the original)
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They say memory is the second thing to go. Don’t ask me what the first thing is: I don’t remember! Seriously, the longer I sojourn on this earth, the more mysterious memory becomes. What is its purpose? How much of memory is actually remembered, and how much is created? Recently, while finally unpacking and organizing my books after our move four years ago (Thanks for the new bookshelves, Anna!), I stumbled upon a journal that I began to keep when I was an undergraduate. Some of what I had writt
Checking It Off (opens the original)
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As with most of you, I suspect, my life comprises a fairly unbroken series of ordinary days. There’s little room for relaxation, even when I’m technically on vacation. One task ends, but there’s another waiting in its place, and often not a task I set for myself. Something just comes up. I would think there wouldn’t be much room for joy in such a routine, but there’s where I’d be wrong.Thanks for making a visit to this post part of your to-do list today.<a class="image-link image2 is-viewable-im
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